


last night i dreamt that somebody loved me

by Luthor



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Friends With Benefits, au: no walkers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2644220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthor/pseuds/Luthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Andrea/Shane. He’s the last to leave. When Andrea looks at him, when she thinks of what it is he has to go home to, she can’t find it within herself to push him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	last night i dreamt that somebody loved me

**Author's Note:**

> I have a thing for this pairing, and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it. These are two characters that always seem to be able to relate to one another in some kind of way - whether it's because they're the two who are on the 'outskirts' of the group, or something deeper. 
> 
> Either way, they're really, really pretty together, and I'm shallow. 
> 
> (I'm tempted to work this into some kind of Michandrea fic, but that probably will not happen. Not anytime soon, anyway, so I'll mark this as complete. But just... be warned.)

He’s the last to leave. When Andrea looks at him, when she thinks of what it is he has to go home to, she can’t find it within herself to push him out.

The night is late, and Andrea stifles a yawn behind her hand. The last few strums of an Eagles song permeates the air, then returns it to silence. She holds her breath, attempting to remember the next song in the playlist. A Bob Dylan, maybe, or something folky.

The speakers thrum with the sound of a chime, of a crowd, of incoherent brawling, and Andrea inwardly winces. Of all the Smiths songs that could have made it onto the playlist, it’s the condensed five minutes of harrowing depression that fills up her sitting room now.

The distinct chimes of the opening seem to lure Shane out of his thoughts, at least. He tilts his head towards her with a grin that’s all sharp edges, and says, “Way to end the party, chief.”

Andrea rolls her eyes at him, but smirks. She likes to think it’s sympathetic enough as she uses his knee to push herself up from the sofa. Before Morrissey’s wavering vocals can fill her apartment, she skips the song.

Silence eases into _Star Me Kitten_ , and the tension dispels again.

“You staying here tonight?” she asks, making her way back to the couch. She curls her legs up beside her and watches Shane shrug. “I don’t mind, but you’re not driving.”

He tips his attention down to the bottle in his hand and shrugs again.

“Don’t mind either way. Your sofa’s as good as mine.”

Andrea frowns at that. “You’re back with—?”

She gestures with a hand, shakes her head. She can’t remember the woman’s name, but she knows she’s been told at least twice before. For his part, Shane doesn’t seem to notice. He shakes his head, frowns, and sets his empty beer bottle down by his feet.

“Naw, but the bitch made sure to smash the place up before she left. Picture frames, those dumb-fuck cat ornaments she brought in – glass everywhere.”

“Jesus, Shane, you broke up with her weeks ago.”

He tilts his gaze around to her again, that smirk smaller, now, but just as clean-cut. Catch one of those smirks from the wrong angle, and it’s sure to make you bleed, Andres thinks.

Shane throws his shoulders back in a shrug, then leans against the back of the couch. He closes his eyes and sighs out, “I’m getting around to cleaning it.”

“Christ,” Andrea sighs. “Shane, look.”

He looks at her. Andrea blinks. For a second, he thinks she’s about to spin him some sympathetic crap about _moving on_ and _plenty more fish_ and maybe even invite him to her yoga class, but Andrea doesn’t disappoint. She stares at Shane for a second longer and then shakes her head.

“You look like shit.”

Shane can’t help his scoff of laughter – can’t really argue with her, either.

She doesn’t tell him _you have to get over this_ , or _leave her behind, move on_. It’s nothing that he hasn’t heard before, but not from Andrea. If Shane was feeling like any less of a bastard, maybe he’d be grateful for that. As it is, he sinks further into her sofa and looks away.

And then Andrea does something that surprises him.

With her legs curled up beside her, fingers picking at the fraying ends of her casual pair of jeans, Andrea slips further back into her sofa and sighs, “Not that I’m in any position to pass judgement.”

Now, Shane’s used to ignoring people. When he deems it necessary, he’s even good at it. But there’s something about this comment, the way that it’s said, the sag that he as good as hears in her voice, that has him turning his head sharply to Andrea.

He looks at her face, her clingy knit sweater, and the faded jeans that hug her ass as good as any designer pair in her wardrobe, and he frowns.

“You don’t look like shit,” he tells her, and Andrea cuts him a look so dry that he almost blushes. “I’m just saying—”

“I appreciate it.”

It’s there, still, that dry humour in her smirk, but more subdued than before. She’s let something go, Shane realises – dropped something, now that it’s just the two of them. She looks— _tired_. It’s the kind of exhaustion that can’t be masked by expensive clothes and make-up, and now that he knows how to recognise it, Shane can’t believe he didn’t spot it sooner.

Andrea might not look like shit, but he’s willing to bet that she feels like it. He frowns, and Andrea catches his eye, and that’s apparently all the invitation she needs to blurt out her thoughts. Not that Shane minds, though; it’s been a while since he’s been able to look past his own problems, and he welcomes the distraction.

“Do you ever feel like you’re just not _meant_ to have somebody?” She shakes her head at herself; that’s still too broad. “Like you’re the kind of person who just isn’t supposed to get the guy, and the kids, and the white picket fence?”

Shane tips his head in what Andrea construes as a nod.

“That’s what you want?” he asks, and can’t quite help the doubt that creeps into his voice.

“Okay,” Andrea sighs. “Maybe not the white picket fence. Maybe not even the kids, I don’t know. But all that comes with it.”

“The guy?”

“Stop smirking like that.”

“Like what?” But it’s a full-fledged grin, now, and Shane has to work to shake it off. “Naw, c’mon. I’m only messin’ with you.”

Andrea arches an eyebrow, and Shane’s expression sobers, for the most part. Huffing out a sigh, she shoves her hand against his knee as she shifts on the sofa, and tries not to let her smirk show when Shane lets out a quiet laugh.

“Okay, then,” she relents, “maybe I don’t want _all_ of that. Not from the guys I’m meeting, anyway. Maybe I’m just…”

“Lonely?”

Andrea looks at him, shocked for a second, her mouth open and ready to protest. She catches the look on his face, then, that same kind of acceptance in his eyes, and she knows. She’s not the only one. If there’s anyone she can talk to this about, Shane might be the perfect candidate.

“Yeah, lonely.”

Shane nods his head. Beside him, Andrea shifts in her seat like she can’t get comfortable.

She watches Shane a moment longer, then blurts out, “No, you’re right. I don’t really want any of that, right now. I don’t think I even want a relationship, really. But that… that _togetherness_. I just… “

“What?”

Andrea shrugs but holds his gaze. Finally, “Sex. I really miss sex.”

Shane holds her gaze for a second longer, maybe two, and then loses it. He’s faintly aware of Andrea cursing him as his laughter bubbles out, crunching his abdomen muscles as he tips forward in his seat. He stops, eventually, when Andrea swats a hand against his arm and starts pouting.

“Yeah,” he agrees, drawing the word out. “When was the last time you—?”

“Are you _serious_?”

Shane lifts his eyebrows, grin widening, and Andrea purses her lips tighter and tries to think.

“God, okay.” She goes quiet, and then her eyes widen slightly. “Shit, it was… beginning of last month?”

Shane whistles, but it’s ruined by his laugh. Andrea slaps his arm again.

“Shut up, asshole. It’s not like you’ve been getting any lately.”

“True, that,” he laughs, shaking his head. He cuts his gaze across to Andrea and takes her in so overtly that Andrea actually frowns. “Last month?” he asks, incredulous.

“That’s what I said.”

“Shit.”

Andrea’s cheeks tinge pink; she contemplates slapping him again, but dismisses the urge. That would only make him start laughing again, and she’s had enough mocking for one night, thank you very much.

“So,” Shane starts, eyes glazed and smirk prominent, “how’s that work, then…?”

Andrea deadpans him. “It’s… I’ve been _busy_ , alright.”

“Alright…”

“Shut up.”

Shane grins again, and Andrea groans.

“Don’t laugh at me, I’m in _pain_.” She curls up against the sofa, spreading her legs out over Shane’s thighs, and pulls a cushion into her chest.

For his part, Shane offers her knee a sympathetic squeeze. “So go out – meet a guy.”

“When do I have the time to meet guys?”

“Well, you work with a bunch of them.”

“Yeah, because that always works out great.” Andrea rolls her eyes. “I’m sick of hooking up with lawyers.”

She stretches her legs out over Shane and then bends her knees, the backs of her feet against one of his thighs, and her butt against the other. Shane looks down at her, trapped, and smirks. He pinches the toned underside of her calf, but there’s little enough to it that the muscle there only twitches in response.

“The only men I meet want to date.” She tilts her head to one side and frowns. “I don’t want to date them.”

“You want a fuck buddy,” Shane tells her.

“Excuse me?”

“A friend with benefits?”

Andrea’s eyebrows raise, but the look she gives him sits somewhere between incredulity and… and _appraisal_. Shane all but barks out a laugh when he realises what she’s doing.

“Aw, shit, not _me_ ,” he blurts, and Andrea blinks, her cheeks burning. “Come on, now. You think I was—?”

Andrea purses her lips, but the smirk she’s attempting to repress work its way free, regardless. She holds his gaze a second longer, and then lets out a laugh. “God, I actually almost considered it for a second…”

“And why wouldn’t you?” Shane grins down at her, and Andrea scoffs just a _little_ too loudly for his face to drop. “You _wouldn’t_? If I was offerin’?”

“Don’t look so offended,” Andrea laughs.

“Naw, come on.” He sets his hands on her legs, shifting them slightly so as to allow himself enough room to sit up properly. “What’s wrong with _me_? You think _Glenn_ would offer this? You think _Daryl_ would?”

That sets Andrea’s laughter off even louder. Shane looks down at her and shakes his head, then promises, “Ain’t none of them boys gonna give you what you want.”

“That right?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“And you think you could?”

“Damn right, I could.”

Andrea bites down on her bottom lip, stifling the rest of her laughter. She’s had too much to drink and she’s feeling giddy. (Shane has had too much to drink and he’s an easy target. Andrea just can’t help herself.)

“And just what do you think I want?”

For a second, Shane looks sore that she’d doubt him. He shifts up, grabs one of her legs beneath the knee, and pulls. Andrea’s head slides away from the arm of the sofa and lands on the cushion with a huff; she makes sure Shane sees her glare as he moves between her legs.

“Oh, missionary,” she rolls her eyes, “how vanilla.”

“Jesus, I’m not done yet,” Shane promises, smirking, and snatches the cushion from her chest. It’s thrown off somewhere behind him, and before Andrea can protest about the lamp he just almost broke, he has her wrists and is pulling them up behind her head.

“Now, this,” he says, “get some handcuffs up here, some ribbon, those silk scarves, whatever the fuck you like, this is the kinky shit I bet you’re into.”

A laugh bubbles up from Andrea’s stomach, and she asks, “You think about this a lot?”

Shane’s mouth twists into a grin, and that’s when Andrea realises how close he is, and something warm coils up in her stomach. She can smell the beer on his breath, and whatever cologne he’s wearing. It’s a subtle fragrance, or else he’s wearing yesterday’s perfumed t-shirt. (She wouldn’t put it past him.)

With her legs on either side of his hips, her wrists loosely restrained, Andrea wiggles beneath him and says, “It’d be a terrible idea.”

“For sure,” Shane agrees, watching her lips. When a glimmer of pink tongue comes out to wet them, he can’t help but swallow in return. “…shit.”

A slow smile forms across Andrea’s lips. She knows she shouldn’t even as she pushes herself closer.

It’s nothing special, as far as kisses go. It’s hesitant, restricted – _weird_. But it’s something, it does something, lights something up inside of Andrea that she thinks might be desire. She wraps a leg around Shane’s and moans when one large, strong hand leaves her wrist to grip tightly around her hip.

It’s not the worst idea she’s ever had, and Andrea clings to that.

 

Once she’s lost her knit sweater and clawed the t-shirt off his back, Andrea pushes her fingers into Shane’s hair and lowers her mouth to his ear to say, “You were wrong, you know, about the silk scarves.”

Shane pulls back from her collarbone, looking dazedly at the size of her grin.

“But I can show you what other kinky shit I’m into.”

Sliding her hands down to his chest, she watches Shane’s jaw go slack and then _pushes_. He falls to the floor, cursing, and Andrea follows him down.


End file.
